


New Arrivals

by unorigelnal (jayburding)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayburding/pseuds/unorigelnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greagoir waits to greet the newest addition to Kinloch, and the small surprise he brings with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Arrivals

Hadley, a good man from the Chantry in Denerim, is the latest addition to the Ferelden Circle, and Greagoir waits for his arrival as the evening wanes and the night joins the lake to the sky as one all-encompassing darkness. It is not yet winter, but the autumn is already turning chill enough that the wind bites through his tunic.

He hears the boat come up against the dock just as he is debating ducking back into the warmth of the entrance hall, and Hadley emerges into the lantern light a minute later, muffled in a well-worn traveling cloak. He is not alone.

The little elf that trails behind him looks all of five years old, hands clenched tight into her ragged skirts. She wears ill-fitting shoes and an old shawl that slips from her shoulders, obviously purchased on the road, just enough to get her to Kinloch. There were stipends for such things, when parents could not or chose not to provide them.

“Good evening, Greagoir. I’ve got another one for you. She was left on the doorstep just before I was due to leave,” Hadley says by way of explanation as Greagoir lets them both in and closes the gates firmly behind them. “The Revered Mother thought it prudent to send her along with me.”

“Of course she did,” Greagoir says, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He will need to write to the Denerim Chantry and remind them that it was far more prudent to give some warning before sending a young apprentice to the Circle. They were making a habit of this.

How old?” Greagoir asks, already knowing just to look at her that she’ll be the youngest in the dormitories. Too young to be showing any signs yet, surely: another reason why Denerim should have kept her a little longer. Pious paranoia might well have handed them a perfectly normal child.

“Six, she’s just small for her age,” Hadley assures him. “Her mother insisted the signs were clear and she was old enough to come to the Circle.”

“They always do,” he replies and notes the way Hadley winces. Not a complete fool then.

He crouches to address the little girl. This close, it is all too easy to see the drying tear tracks on her cheeks, the renewing sheen to her eyes.

“What is your name?” he asks. He means to be gentle, but she still shrinks back from him, keeping behind Hadley, eyes downturned. She frees one hand from her skirt to scrub at her eyes, smudging tears over her cheeks, but still does not answer him.

“Rathwith Surana,” Hadley answers for her as Greagoir rises again. “Alienage elf, far as we can tell.”

“It hardly matters,” Greagoir says, withholding a sigh. “She’s a Circle elf now, not that we have many.”

He gestures towards the stairs leading to the upper levels. “You should go and get settled in your quarters. Everything should have been set out already. I’ll put her in with the rest of the apprentices and anything else can be done in the morning.”

Hadley departs readily enough with a brief farewell to Greagoir, and now there is nowhere within the sparse hall for Rathwith to hide behind. She remains exactly where she is, swallowed up by the yawning space. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, she presses a hand to her face and sobs into her palm. Another unwanted child already well taught in how to hide their tears.

Greagoir takes a slip of cloth from his belt and offers it to her. It helps to carry something as ordinary as a handkerchief when surrounded by apprentices and a vast variety of potentially explosive substances. She hesitates to take it from him, but he persists and after a moment she clutches it tight and holds it scrunched against her face. It does little to really dry her tears that way, but she seems comforted by it. Oh well, as long as it works.

“Come on,” he says, when she appears to have calmed down somewhat. “We still need to find you a bed. I’m sure you’re tired from the journey.”

He turns to lead the way. A small hand slips into his, trembling, hesitant.

He should not allow this. It would be improper to permit even a new apprentice to think approaching a Templar like this was appropriate. They had to learn quickly, or breed bad habits, or worse.

She tries to pull away just as gently, and he closes his hand around hers. Not enough to hold her, just to let her know she could stay if she wanted.

He could allow it this once. Just for tonight.

“This way,” he says, and leads her on.


End file.
